Once Again
by operaghost11235
Summary: The Opera house is rebuilt, and Erik is calling it his "playground" again. The managers say they've learned their lesson and that they won't do anything wrong after they were given their second chance. But after a sequence of tragic events happen, leading to a masquerade ball wedding massacre, has the Opera House been plagued by the Phantom of the Opera again?
1. Chapter 1: Frightening Pursuit

**Chapter 1: Frightening Pursuit**

**Hi. So I'm starting another Phanfic and I SWEAR, I'm not going to make it vague, well, I'll try, anyway. This Fanfic is based on the book, so I'll be using the original names of the two managers of the Opera house: Monsieurs Richard and Moncharmin; and not the ones from the movie, Monsieurs Firmin and Andre, even if I'm taking this Phanfic from where the 2004 movie left off.. Oh, and by the way, if you read this, the song that the mob is singing is to the tune of "The Phantom of the Opera" title song. I bet this is going to be really vague, so I'll expect bad reviews about my cheesy 4-year-old grammar. **

**Disclaimer: Does Gaston Leroux own POTO? But even if so, I don't own anything.**

**Chapter 1: Frightening Pursuit (Erik's P.O.V.)**

I looked back to see if the mob was at the gate. There was nothing there except for the ripple marks on the dark inky water; just the marks the gondola left leaving my lair. I watched the gondola row silently away from the shore. On it was that idiot Raoul, the Vicomte de Chagny, and my love Christine Daaé. I watched them disappear into the darkness of the catacombs. And I already missed Christine.

A bunch of hollers and screams that came from the mouth of the catacombs interrupted my thoughts. I grabbed a candleholder and smashed all the mirrors in my lair, one by one. I smashed the last mirror, which revealed a long dark passageway made of stones and dingy grey concrete. Lit torches and candles on the wall cast eerie shadows.

I slowly walked into the corridor, picking a torch from the wall. I held out cast a tall looming shadow on the wall. Every time the soles of my boots hit the cold stone floor, there would be a sound that would echo through the empty hallway. I knew I had to escape. I knew I had to get out. I knew I had to —

"Hey, look! I found him! I found the Opera ghost!"

A voice from behind me forced my head to whirl around and see who it was. It was Meg Giry standing at the frame of the smashed mirror. She was wearing a white shirt with brown pants and black boots that were soaked in water. Her bright blond hair was shining gold because of the flames of the torch that she held in her right hand. In her left, she held some sort of white porcelain object – my white half mask. Then I came to my senses – she was part of the mob that was after me.

Again she hollered to a group of people behind her that were also carrying torches swords, rifles or pitchforks. I turned my head and ran through the hallway. I looked back and saw that the mob was spilling into the tunnel. I saw, besides Meg, other familiar faces. I was able to see the two managers M. Richard and M. Moncharmin. There were stagehands and scene-shifters and a handful of police officers. But what surprised me was that Meg stood in front of the mob…as if she was leading it.

As I went deeper into the darkness, I could hear the song the mob was singing. And it grew louder with each step they took.

"_Track down this murderer, he must be found! Hunt down this animal who runs the ground! Too long he's preyed on us, but now we know: that the Phantom of the Opera is there…deep down below!"_

I knew the mob was too fast and that I couldn't outrun them, so I had to act quickly. The mob was already inside the small corridor, struggling to get to me, but still singing their song. I ran to the end of the hallway, where I saw two other corridors branching out to the left and to the right. I looked to the end of the hall and I saw the mob was already inside, running towards me. I grabbed an urn full of oil that was hanging on the wall and I spilled it out in front of me. I dropped my torch in the puddle of oil and it quickly burst into a wall of inferno. After I did that, I ran to the corridor on my right. Since the mob couldn't go through my shield of fire, they stopped at the sight of it and thinking that they could catch me by going another route, they left the hallway.

I laughed hysterically at the action and ran into the darkness.

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The hallway I took led me to a chamber.

The chamber was wide and quite long. The ceiling was low, made of planks of wood, and was full of these square outlines with strings hanging from them. There were torches on the wall and on the other end of the chamber was a wooden door; my way out.

I remember this place. This was the area below the stage…and all these square outlines were my trap doors. I picked up a new torch from the wall and walked through the chamber, the sound of my boot soles hitting the floor echoed through the chamber. The silence made me think of Christine.

I taught her how to sing; that was my greatest contribution to her. I trained her voice so it would sound as beautiful as she was. I knew her ever since she was a young child, and I first met her in that chapel…crying and mourning over the death of her father. I developed an odd student-teacher relationship with her, but that still counts as some kind of relationship. Suddenly, here comes her so-called "childhood sweetheart" and took her away from me with all his talk of daylight and pleasure and all these things that I despise. So that Raoul, that stupid viscount, wouldn't do anything to my Christine ever again, I tried to force her into marriage, which led to her grudge against me. Then, all of a sudden, the Vicomte de Chagny comes to the rescue in a vile desperate attempt to free her. I was terribly frustrated in this, so I decided to catch Christine with a choice. Her lover would be condemned to death, and she will be set free, or she will forever be my wife and her lover will live. Since she would lose either way, she did something that I never would have expected: she kissed me. When she did, all of my hatred, my pain, sorrow and agony melted away. But she didn't do it out of love. She only did it to save that Raoul. She wanted me to feel guilty about what I did. Wallowing in my self-pity, I let them both go. They left me to rot here like the animal I am, and I bet they didn't even care about this frightening pursuit I'm in. I actually wonder what Christine was doing right now, and what was on her mind….

A thud from above the ceiling interrupted my thoughts. I heard footsteps above me, which meant the mob, must have gone the stage in an effort to find me. I rushed to the wooden door at the end of the chamber, my hand hovering over the doorknob. What made me stop was the conversation of the mob above my head. I smiled like a bloodthirsty animal as they spoke because I could hear the fear in their voices.

"Where do you think he went, M. Richard?" a voice above said. It was female and sounded quaint…it was little Meg.

"I don't know," a male voice, M. Richard, said in reply. "All I know was that he went through the right corridor."

"So what does that mean?" another male voice said. It sounded like M. Moncharmin.

"It means this." Little Meg said, the tone in her voice made her explanation sound confident and true. "The Phantom of the Opera was able to build passageways winding throughout the structure of the Opera house. There are passageways in the topmost floor, which he used when he cut down the chandelier. There are passageways under our feet, which are attached to his subterranean abode. They run through the backstage and the dressing rooms, which explain the disappearance of Christine and how she managed to fall into the Phantom's hands."

"This is astounding! It's amazing how you know all of this!" M. Richard remarked. I myself nodded silently in agreement. Meg knew where my passageways were and how I used them in my dangerous attempts to scare the managers; she was a genius!

"So he took the right route," Meg continued. "That means he took the underground passages…"

There was a brief moment of silence. I think they already suspected that I was under their feet. They must have been thinking that I was under their noses all along…and literally. In fright, I opened the door and closed it behind me. I ran as fast as I can with my heart beating and my fingers trembling. Why was this happening to me? I'm the Phantom of the Opera, God damn it! I wound through the passageways until I came to a dead-end. There was a trap door carved into the ceiling, and I had no idea where it went. I finally calmed down, but I heard the song of the mob echoing through the hallways. I turned to the passageways and saw the light of torches…that can't be good.

The only way I could escape was to go through that trap door. I pushed it open and climbed up. After that, I fastened it. I was able to hear the confusion of the mob, and they went another way.

I looked around to see where I was. I was in the house of a Persian, no doubt. The place was decorated in delicately sewn rugs from the east. There was velvet furniture everywhere and satin curtains hung over the windows. The lamps that hung on the wall set the room in a dim eerie light.

"Erik?"

A voice behind me echoed through my ears. I turned to look behind me and I saw a man with emerald green eyes, olive skin, dressed in Persian robes; that means dressed in the colors of emerald green, ruby red, lapis lazuli blue and yellow bronze. To me, he looked vaguely familiar. I tried to blink and refresh my memory. I tried to find this man's name in my mind.

A single name struck me like lightning. "Nadir?"

He held out his arms, as if he was asking for a hug. "Who else would it be?"

I hugged him tightly. He was a good friend of mine, and it was a pleasant experience meeting him again. I released myself from the grasp of his hug. "Nadir, I have hundreds of questions to ask you. He walked over to the wall, took a lantern from it and handed it to me. He pointed at a flight of wooden stairs on my right. "Get your sleep and I'll answer your questions in the morning."

I took the lantern from him and trudged up the stairs. Every time I would step on them, they would creak, an annoying sound to me. The lantern I was holding lit up a long hallway. It had a Persian velvet green rug on the floor. There were three wooden doors on each side of the hall. I went to the last door on the left side and opened it.

My bedroom looked like a Persian version of an Opera house dressing room.

The bed lay on one side of the room and it was low. It had a wooden bed frame with velvet white and red blankets and pillows. There was a long mirror with gilded edges on one side of the room. The place was fully adorned with Persian rugs of different designs and colors. A single wooden chair stood near the window with silk curtains drawn.

I threw myself on the bed and let my fingers run through the velvet sheets. I ran all around the passageways of the opera, sawed of the chain of a glass chandelier, rowed a gondola back and forth a million times and other strenuous activities all couldn't compare to how tired I was that night.

I was so exhausted, I didn't even notice that I fell asleep.


	2. Chapter 2: A Long Year's Wait

**Chapter 2: A Long Year's Wait**

**Hey! So how was the other chapter? Hey, at least I made it LONGER, that counts, right? I also decided to post this that its due so it'll save me the trouble later on. Over the weekend, I watched Les Misérables, and it was such a sad movie. It was BEAUTIFUL. Everybody dies, but it's still nice. I'm planning on making a "phanfic" about it, but I'll tell you if I am going to in the next AN. Yeah. I've always noticed whoever is a POTO fan has a chance to love Les Misérables as well. Musicals rock, don't they? Particularly POTO and Les Misérables, for all you fans out there. ;) **

**Disclaimer: So far, I own nothing. I literally own NOTHING. **

**Chapter 2: A Long Year's Wait (Erik's P.O.V.)**

"Erik, wake up. Do you know how late it is? Erik, wake up!"

I woke up to that sentence screamed in my ear and repeated shoving. I groaned and sat up on my bed. The first thing I smelled was the fresh morning breeze and the smell of baked bread. When I opened my eyes, I saw Nadir kneeling on one knee beside my bed. And he was the one shoving me. _Great._

"What now, Nadir?" I moaned sleepily, rubbing the slumber from my tired eyes.

Nadir stood up and walked to my door, his hand on the doorknob. "Breakfast is ready, Erik. I need you to change your clothes then come downstairs." Nadir pointed to the chair; now piled neatly on it was clothes. He left my room and the closing of the door left me relived.

I stood up and walked sleepily to the chair. I kneeled before the chair and examined he clothes one by one. There was a white long-sleeved loose shirt and a sleek black trench coat made of shiny satin. There was also a pair of pants and ankle-high boots on the floor. There was also a cardboard box under the chair. I put it on top of the chair, opened it and I found inside my black wig and another white half mask. There was a small card attached to the mask which read:

"Erik, my servant Darius went to check your subterranean abode to see if it was clear of the mob. Instead, he found these clothes and your mask there. I ordered him to bring them here for your use."

I smiled as I leafed through the clothes again. "Damn you, Nadir." I stood up and picked the clothing.

After I put my clothes and wig on, I picked up my mask and looked into the mirror. I trailed my right hand over my deformity. God, I curse myself. I look like a monster, both inside and out. That's what forced me to wear this mask, but I couldn't cover my monstrosity on the inside. Christine hated that. It's understandable that she chose a young handsome wealthy viscount over an ugly malicious murderer like me. I wanted to smash the mirror so bad, but there was nothing to hit it with. I grumbled and stamped my foot in frustration.

I put my white mask over my deformity and looked at myself in the mirror. Nadir always told me I looked like a "young handsome gentleman", but I thought otherwise. I even wondered why a beautiful creature such as Christine would dare kiss _this_. I fixed my trench coat, walked to the door, and exited to go downstairs.

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"Ah, there you are!"

When I entered the dining room, those were the first words I heard from Nadir. The dining room was quadrilateral; a wooden table sat in the middle of the room with eight chairs—two chairs on its width, three on its length. The tablecloth that covered it was velvet red with golden thread lining it that served it as decoration. White plates sat in front of each chair complete with silverware necessities; in simpler words, spoons and forks. Nadir sat on the master's seat eating his breakfast like a starved wolf.

He motioned for me to sit beside him, which I did (in fact, I slumped on my chair in a lazy manner). He pushed my plate closer to me and I looked at my plate. There were two strips of bacon and fresh bread. I wasn't in the mood to eat, so I rested my head on my hand and poked my food with a fork.

"Erik," Nadir scolded. "You have to eat; you haven't eaten in days."

"I don't want to," I said to him lugubriously and gloomily. "I don't feel like it. I'm not in the mood to."

Nadir stood up and walked to the living room leaving me there. "I'm not answering any of your questions if you're not going to eat."

I groaned in annoyance. "Nadir!" I whined, but he ignored it and sat on a chair in the living room. I rolled my eyes and started gulping down my food. Nadir was perhaps the only person who knew how to get me to do something and it annoyed me to the core.

After I ate my breakfast, I ran to the living room where I found Nadir sitting there. He was smiling, which made me twitch.

I crossed my arms across my chest. "So? Aren't you going to answer me?"His silent reply forced my anger out. "Damn you, Nadir! I can't believe you made Erik do something Erik didn't want to do all for nothing! Damn you!"

There again. I caught myself talking in third-person. I always hated that stupid habit, and it always found a way to get to my tongue. In frustration I stamped my foot. I looked back at Nadir, who was still silent. He gestured for me to look at his front door. I saw a woman stepped into the house. She wore a black gown that, I think, is supposed to be used for funerals. She held a cane in her hand which she twirled around every so often. Her bright blond hair was braided and was tied in a bun behind her head. Her dark green eyes showed an expression of calmness…and there was only one person I knew who had that face.

Madame Antoinette Giry.

I felt my left eye twitch. I came to my senses. She was the one who intercepted my notes to the managers. She was the one who led the mob. She was the one who told of my tragic past to the viscount. _She was the one who led the idiot Raoul to my lair! _Without Raoul, my plan would have been perfect. Christine would have married me. We could have watched him die. But no! Mme. Giry led him there! She was so stupid, so naïve! _ Damn her! God damn her!_

I pointed at her as her face became a mask of nervousness. "You. You! _Damn you! You little back-biting snake! Damn you! Curse you!_"

Mme. Giry raised an eyebrow. "What? Erik, I don't know what you're talking about!"

I smiled in sarcasm. "Really? Really? You led the idiotic viscount into my lair! You foiled all my plans! I wish you would have never been born!"

She didn't seem offended by my insult. Instead, she smiled deviously. "If I was never born, I would have never rescued you," her grin grew wider, "'Le Morte Vivant'."

I retorted at my hideous nickname. "Don't call me that!"

When I was a young boy, when my parents sold me, the gypsies who I "worked with" used to call me "Le Morte Vivant". It was my name when I was some kind of ugly tourist attraction. It literally translates to or means "The Living Dead" or "The Devil's Child". Of course, these names were pertaining to my deformity. My hideous deformity.

I sighed deeply to let my anger slip away. I forced a smile, but it was obvious it was evil. "You have come here for something, Antoinette. What is it you seek?"

"I came to inform you about something," she replied anxiously. "Something important. Something _gravely_ important."

I sighed in exasperation and let myself drop unto a chair. "This is about Christine, isn't it? This is _always _about Christine. I don't need another talk about her; I'm fine. I know she's practically _half my age_, but-"

"This isn't about Christine," Mme. Giry interrupted, clarifying. "It's about the Opera House."

The Opera House? Did I hear that right? Where I "lived"? What about it? Why was it all of a sudden important? "What about it?"

"They're going to rebuild it. And I believe you could go back to it. Call it your abode again."

What? Go back to the Opera Populaire? I'd be killed there! I'd be singing in my grave! The managers have learned from their mistakes (everyone does eventually) and perhaps they've become more cunning than I am! I'd be a dead ghost? Wait, why am I thinking of this? I'm a genius! I was able to burn an Opera, that's good, right? I'm the Phantom of the Opera! God damn it, why am I thinking like this?

I think Mme. Giry saw what I was thinking, for she smiled again. "Erik, you don't have to be afraid. I will inform you about the construction site every day. I'll pacify the managers every time they get suspicions about you. Then, when the Opera House is fully constructed, I'll sneak you in."

I cocked an eyebrow. "Will this work?"

"Have I ever been wrong?"

"No,"

She shrugged then chuckled. "Well, there's your answer." She walked over to the door and opened it. "I'll see you tomorrow, Erik!"

"Wait! Antoinette!" I rushed after her.

Too late. She closed the door and left. I couldn't go outside because I was a wanted criminal…great. _Just great._

I slumped back in my chair and grumbled in frustration. Nadir was so silent, that I didn't notice him there until he smiled.

I looked at him like he was a maniac. "What are you smiling about?"

His grin grew even wider. "You were going to ask her something, weren't you?"

My cheeks turned a brilliant shade of crimson. "No," I mumbled under my breath.

Nadir laughed at my expression. "You wanted to ask her about Christine, weren't you?"

"Nadir!"


	3. Chapter 3: Going Back

**Chapter 3: Going Back **

**Hey, guys! So how was the week? Sorry for posting late because my internet connection's getting lost as you read this. I made this one more detailed than the first and I'm planning on making it longer. There, see? Are you happy? Oh, and speaking of which, I might be posting Chapter 4 a few days ahead or late of its time because of the slow internet. If I happen to get internet already, I'd be posting chapters lickedy-split. **

**Chapter might be short, but more explanations coming your way. Oh, and if you're going to read further, one should know that the "Palais Gariner" is the name of the Paris Opera House. People who are huge POTO fans may know this.**

**Disclaimer: Nada, zero, zip. That's all I own. I mean, WHO THE HELL OWNS POTO ANYWAY?! Gaston Leroux?**

**Chapter 4: Going Back (Erik's P.O.V.)**

A year passed by silently and quickly. I was kept hidden here in Nadir's Paris home all the year. Mme. Giry came by to Nadir's house to inform me about the rehabilitation of the _Palais Gariner. _On some days, Mme. Giry would bring me some compositions that construction workers found in the piles of ash. I slowly recognized the pieces as my own compositions and I would play them on Nadir's piano. On some days, she would bring a basket full of Parisian food such as bread and cheese for me to eat. On rare occasions she brings her daughter, Meg Giry, in my presence. I was maddened by this at first, but Antoinette assured me that Meg wouldn't tell anyone that I was alive (they all though I died in the fire). She also said that when the Opera House was fully reconstructed, she would pacify the managers whenever they would get suspicions about me. Also, the construction workers fear me, no doubt. They have barely touched my underground passageways fearing that I might kill them there, according to Mme. Giry. How gullible the construction workers are! Still, I never had the courage to ask Mme. Giry if Christine was coming back to the _Palais Gariner_. Nadir was right. I _was _love-sick for Christine. It hurt me for her to love the viscount, but she chose him…and she was rightfully his.

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"Erik, we're going back."

There was a soft knock on my room door which interrupted my thoughts. I was staring out the window, looking outside to catch a glimpse of the beautiful nightscape of Paris. I always thought of the night as a friend of mine, covering me in its dark black cape full of studded stars to act as my cover of my mischievous doings.

There was another soft knock on my door. "Erik, we're going back."

"Come in Antoinette," I said, annoyed. "The door isn't locked. And that knocking is very irritating to the ear."

There came a click from the door and it flung open. There stood Mme. Giry holding a black cloak in her hands. "Erik, we're going back."

I stood up and walked to her. "That sentence is boring me out. It's getting monotonous. What do you mean by it, anyway?"

She rolled her eyes at my question. "Erik, we're going back to the Opera House, remember?"

Something suddenly snapped in my brain. "Yes, I do remember."

She held out the cloak in front of me. "Here, wear this. It'll protect you."

I took it from her and held it out in front of me. It was a long satin black cape with a hood whose function was to cover the user's face in shadow. "What's this for, Antoinette?"

She put the cape on me and threw the hood above my face. "There. This hood/cape is supposed to cover the gleam of your white mask. I made it so we can sneak into the _Palais Gariner_. Or better yet, you could remove your mask and-"

"No, no. no!" I stammered. "Let's go."

She led me outside my room and allowed me to say goodbye to Nadir. We strode out into the streets of Paris and to the front of the Opera House. With its gleaming gold statues, brilliant ecru color, and amazing Renaissance architecture, you could hardly tell that it was burnt before.

Mme. Giry and I stepped into the _Palais Gariner_.

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The place didn't even look like it was burnt…before, I mean.

The foyer was adorned in Victorian elegance and hung on its gleaming white walls were candleholders with two lit candles each. The balconies were perched high above the floor with people watching the multitude below. The floor glistened with shining wax and it was decorated with curly designs. The foyer was full of people from gentlemen in their eccentric suits to ladies in multicolored dresses. There was a part of the long staircase where a platform sat and separated into two branches. On the platform were both MM. Richard and Moncharmin.

"My dear ladies and gentlemen," Richard said starting his stupid little speech. "We all know that we had a terrible misfortune that had befallen on all of us before and we promise that we shall not let it happen again."

A man spoke up from the crowd. "What about the Phantom of the Opera?"

From that sentence, people began to murmur uncontrollably. I pulled the hood over my head even more and pulled the cape around my body. But I smiled behind my shadowed face because the tones in the people's voices were full of fear; I always wanted to be feared instead of I fearing people (my childhood was very cruel to me). Even MM. Richard and Moncharmin were whispering anxiously trying to find what to say.

"So far," Richard stammered, clearly nervous. "There have been no reports regarding the Phantom of the Opera. Construction workers have checked his passageways saying there is no one there."

There was murmuring again. I rolled my eyes at the announcement. Of course they would lie that they checked the passageways. Cleary, they needed financial support for all of this; speaking of which, where _did _they get financial support?

"We also thank the Vicomte de Chagny for this wonderful Opera House in which he contributed by providing financial support." Moncharmin continued the speech answering my question.

At that point, a man stepped forward from the crowd to meet the managers onstage. He was with a woman and I then realized the man was Raoul de Chagny and the woman was Christine Daaé. They came back! How exciting! It then came to me; if the managers had another chance to run the Opera House, so do I to haunt it once again as the Phantom of the Opera! Plus, they think that I'm gone for good since they thought I died or abandoned my subterranean "playground", so I would have the element of surprise on my side. Of course they would expect me to do something different than my previous schemes, so I would drive them off-guard my "repeating history" itself! I'm a damn genius!

Mme. Giry must have known what I was thinking because she suddenly jabbed my stomach with her sharp elbow. After I recovered from pain, I stared at her like she was a maniac. "What was that for?"

She ushered be through the crowd and into a door that was disguised to look as a wall. (Come to think of it, it was strange knowing the men and women didn't notice me: some strange black-hooded man ushered into a door-wall by the ballet instructor.) Then she closed the door behind me, and yet she stayed outside. I looked at the room I was in. Wait, it wasn't a room; it was a hallway. A secret passage, to be specific. It was a long stone hallway with torches hanging on either side of it. From where I was standing onward, darkness descended.

"Stay here first," Mme. Giry whispered through the wooden door. "I'll stall the managers." I threw my hood back and pressed my ear against the cold wooden door. I heard the sound of a few footsteps, and then I heard the voice of Richard speak first.

"So what can you say about the architecture, Mme. Giry?" he asked. "We've barely touched the Opera ghost's passageways or his abode. We simply lied to the people to reassure them the ghost has left. We don't want people to run out of this place screaming. We've learned from our mistakes."

"I'm sure the ghost respects you not touching his lair." Mme. Giry replied. "After all, we believe he's gone." (I scoffed. _Yes, sure,_ my mind said to me sarcastically. _Very sure I respect them and you obviously believe I'm gone._)

"Well," another male voice said; the viscount, no doubt. "I'll be watching that Opera you and Moncharmin put together, _Apollo and Daphne, _if I'm not mistaken. Where did you find it anyway? It couldn't be simply written within a day."

"Ah, well, yes," another man replied. Possibly M. Moncharmin. "We found the Opera with complete dialogue and music compositions in the wreckage of the _Palais Gariner_ when it was burnt. Truly, it was based on a myth. But the folder the scripts and music was placed in had the Opera ghost's signature on it."

"Aha!" Raoul exclaimed. "So it _was _made by the ghost. Of course, but why would you play it?"

"To honor his death," Mme. Giry explained (and lied). "He died in the fire and we decided we play this to honor the ghost's art."

"What is it about?" Richard asked. "Did the ghost make the story or did he simply make the music?"

"It's an old Greek myth," Mme. Giry explained. "The sun god, Apollo, fell in love with a beautiful nymph named Daphne. When Apollo was trying to pursue her, the nymph prayed to the gods she is rescued. Her prayers were answered, because the second Apollo touched her, she became a laurel tree."

"Its short; something more like a skit." Moncharmin commented. (_Thank you,_ I said in my mind, sarcastically. _Thank you for commenting badly on my tremendous effort for making a myth an Opera._)

"It's quite long, Monsieur," Mme. Giry said. "The ghost included some extra scenes that weren't mentioned in the myth plus beautiful songs."

"Well," Richard summed it up. "If that's the case, I can't wait for opening night."

Footsteps walked away from the door. But judging by the two female voices I heard, obviously, a woman was left in the company of Mme. Giry.

"So, Christine," Mme. Giry said (she might have put an accent on "Christine" to simply annoy me). "Do you miss this place?"

"Of course," I heard Christine reply. "I'm also really excited for tomorrow's rehearsal of _Apollo and Daphne_. I think he'll be watching…"

I smiled at that. She wanted me to watch her stupid little rehearsal. I could hear her voice again and make a few schemes of mischief…wait, what was I thinking? The managers have grown quick-witted because of my past deeds and I bet they even _lied _that they didn't see my lair! They even said it themselves; this will be the death of me!

I heard footsteps moving away from the door and a knock on the wood. "Erik, it's me." I opened the door to see Mme. Giry. She stepped inside, quickly closed the door behind her and grabbed a torch from the wall as we headed down into the hallway.

"That was smart," I commented. "Thinking the managers found my compositions; that is truly absurd!"

I started to laugh, but her expression made me think whatever I was laughing about was serious. "Erik," she said, "they really found your Opera _Apollo and Daphne _in the burnt wreckage, and they plan on presenting in on a day not far from now."

I bit my tongue, suddenly thinking that I should doubt everything I heard as the darkness of the hallway swallowed Mme. Giry and I.


	4. Chapter 4: Another Plan

**Chapter 4: Another Plan**

**Hi, so how was the other chapter? It was short, yes, but that means that there will be longer chapters coming your way (I think)! As I said, the internet is currently "under repair", so to speak, and that's why this chapter came REALLY late. But if I'm lucky, I can post the next chapter, not a week, but three days from now! But remember and mark the words IF I'M LUCKY.  
**

**Another short chapter, but the next one will be long(er). I'll see if I can squeeze some time in my schedule for that. Oh, and so that you'll remember, **_**Apollo and Daphne **_**is a real myth. Look it up. I'm really trying to compose pieces for the Opera, so you're welcome in , and I'm done with my ever first fic "Innocence"! Yay! So another short chapter full of cheesy grammar, thank you. Not MY fault I don't have Shakespeare's grammar.  
**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to "The Phantom of the Opera". I would if I could, but sadly, I couldn't so I wouldn't, and also I can't because couldn't. Do you understand?  
**

**Chapter 4: Another Plan (Christine's P.O.V.)**

The morning after the grand re-opening of the _Palais Gariner_, Raoul woke me up early so I can rehearse for my part of Daphne for the Opera _Apollo and Daphne_. After I was finally fitted for my costume, I practiced singing for my solo part in the Opera and practiced in front of MM. Richard and Moncharmin plus Raoul beside them, applauding proudly. I've noticed the anatomy of the song; it sounded as if it was composed by my angel…my angel! What has become of him? Surely, I doubt that he faced a fiery death, but perhaps he escaped under the cover of the night. I wasn't entirely sure.

When I was done rehearsing the final act, the three gentlemen applauded and climbed the stairs to meet me onstage. Raoul stood beside me, slung his arm around me shoulder and planted a kiss on my cheek. He smiled at me; that kind of smile that my father used to give me after I would sing with him accompanied by the enchanting music of his old violin. That smile he used to give me when I was a child. That smile he used to give me when he was proud. I was so deep in thought; I didn't even notice a conversation had begun without me!

"That was absolutely beautiful Mlle. Daaé!" M. Richard said, obviously praising me with words of conceit. "I can't wait for opening night! Which reminds me: who are we casting as Apollo for the Opera?"

"No need to worry about that, M. Richard," Raoul said comfortably. "I'll be the one to find him and cast him. And if I can't, well," here he paused, "why am I doubling myself? I'll find him anyway."

"Oh! I forgot ask you two," M. Moncharmin asked. "When are you two to be married? You are fiancès after all, aren't you?"

"Well," Raoul said. "I was wondering if we could be married here, in the _Palais Gariner_. Is that alright?"

"Well, yes, of course!" M. Richard confirmed. "Anything for our Vicomte de Chagny! Which reminds me, we need to have a theme for the-"

A clang of a pulley from above our heads interrupted M. Richard. All of a sudden, the gimbles on the ceiling broke, the ropes went flying and zipping across the metal, then a humongous white backdrop went tumbling down unto the stage. Raoul pushed me out of the way so I wouldn't collapse under it. When the curtain of dust lifted, we saw, before our eyes, the white backdrop which smashed four cardboard trees under it. Raoul clutched me tighter fearing something might happen to me. I looked up to where the backdrop used to hang…I thought I saw the swish of a black cape and the gleam of a white mask….

"Sweet mother of God!" M. Moncharmin exclaimed. "What the hell happened?"

"Must have been the loose gimbles and pulleys," Raoul suggested looking up to see if anything else might fall.

"No…" I said, dumbstruck by what I discovered. "The gimbles can't be loose. This Opera House was just repaired; it's impossible that it would fall accidentally. The construction workers should have tightened them."

All of us pondered this until Raoul spoke. "I think that this is just a mere-"

"Monsieur," a voice from behind us said. We all turned around to see Mme. Giry standing there holding her crutch and a yellow-ish envelope in her hands. Somehow, it looked familiar.

"What is that thing in your hand?" M. Richard asked gesturing towards the said object.

"Oh," Mme. Giry replied. "well, when I heard all the accidents a while ago, the backdrop falling, an envelope fluttered down in front of me." She gave the envelope to M. Moncharmin. We all looked at it in awe with its black borders and the red skull emblem sealing it. "It's from the Opera ghost." Mme. Giry spoke again.

"The Opera ghost?" MM. Richard and Moncharmin exclaimed at the same time. "We thought we got rid of him!" M. Richard continued.

The name excited me for some weird reason. I smiled at the name, but why? I hated him! God, he even threatened to kill Raoul! Do I even love him? But then, I've doomed us all. Maybe my angel was so enraged as me leaving him that he decided he would take it out on all of us, even me! Maybe even if I _did _love him, he might not accept my apology anymore because I broke his heart. Maybe the incident of the white backdrop falling might be, in fact, my doing. Yet, there was this small voice in my mind telling me to doubt everything I thought.

The ripping of the envelope interrupted my thoughts. M. Richard took out the note and read it aloud so we can hear him.

"_Gentlemen, I've heard you have built my (seemingly) humble abode, the Opera House the_ Palais Gariner._ I will repay this token of gratitude with a gift of my own, but of course, it will come to you in time. Now, I ask of you, to keep away from my business and doing and I shall not interfere in yours. You get your second chance to run my _Palais Gariner_, then so do I to haunt it. I also remind you that I demand my monthly loan of 10,000 francs a month._

"_I know of your Opera _Apollo and Daphne _and I shall watch it from my Box 5. It_ shall_ be kept empty or whoever sits in it finds himself dead the second he touches the floor of the box. I know it will take place a week from now, not far. So I expect all of this to happen and the way I want it._

"_A terrible misfortune will befall upon you all if none of this is to go as planned. I remain your humble servant._

"_O.G_."

All of a sudden, Raoul's face lit up. "That's it!"

We all looked at him with confused faces. "What's it, Raoul?" I asked him.

"Don't you see?" Raoul explained. "The ghost is tracing time. He's replaying everything that happened before the Opera House was burnt! He's back here to haunt, no doubt, and he expects us to be open to new tricks, but not to his old ones; obviously to catch us off-guard. First, the falling backdrop, then the note; it's all happening all over again! And I suggest we use this as our advantage to capture the ghost!"

"So what you're saying," M. Moncharmin repeated Raoul's plan, "is that we have to use this 'repeated time' to catch the ghost?"

"Exactly," Raoul confirmed. So the next important event is the abduction of Christine…." Suddenly all eyes were turned to me.

"What?" I asked all of them, confused. "What did I do wrong?"

Raoul held my shoulder. "Christine, follow my instructions. Tonight, try to lure the ghost to abduct you. He _wants_ you, he has to. Then, when he brings you to his lair, keep track of the passageways leading to it. Once the ghost is unaware of your presence, escape. Tell me everything that you saw once I come here."

I was worried. "Raoul, why not ask the mob that stormed into his lair?" I asked trying to avoid the plan. "Perhaps they have answers."

"They don't," Mme. Giry answered. "For some odd reason, they all mysteriously died the night after the pursuit. Perhaps the ghost's doing."

"What about Meg? Didn't she lead the mob herself?"

"She refuses to talk about it…"Mme. Giry faded away twiddling with her crutch.

I felt nervous about doing this. Infiltrate a murderer's lair just for the whereabouts of it? This was scary, more than that, terrifying. Maybe Raoul doesn't know my angel like I do and that's why he's asking me to do this. I wanted to save my home, the Opera House, as well. I could die if I don't do this, and yet again, my angel loves me and killing me is probably the last thing he'll do. But…I was scared.

I sighed deeply before I stated my final answer. "Fine, I'll do it."


	5. Chapter 5: The Violin

**Chapter 5: The Violin **

**Hey, so as I said, I'm gonna be posting as soon as I get my internet back. Yes, I'm trying as hard as I can. My Les Misérables fanfic is still under construction and yes, have you even noticed that this fanfic is more detailed than my first? **

**I'm going to get my internet back in a few days, but until then, I'll try to speed up the progress of my fic. Really bad internet and I REALLY AM FIXING THAT. So I'm really sorry for the late chapter. If you want to discriminate me, my reviews are still welcoming constructive criticism. I'm not good in writing Christine's P.O.V., OK? I'm really used to Erik.  
**

**For waiting, I might post my next chapter a few days from now! If not...blame my internet. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. But I'm pretty sure there's thousands of girls out there who want to own some certain phantom, enough said. **

**Chapter 5: The Violin (Christine's P.O.V.)**

That night, the plan Raoul told me would be put into action. When the dark sky crept in, I stayed in my dormitory in the Opera House. There was one window in the room next to a simple wood-frame bed. The only light source in the room came from a single candle on my bedside table that lit the dark air around it dimly with a flickering yellow light. On one wall of the room, there was the mirror. It was completely free of scratches on its glass with its wooden gilded edges. It was the mirror I used to enter my angel's lair. It was an odd mirror; the construction workers said that when they were inspecting the debris of the Opera House, it was completely untouched by fire.

All I had to do was wait for my angel to come and get me. Then I'll just chart and memorize my way through his passageways going to the lair. When my mission's complete, I escape from the lair and tell Raoul about what I've learned. Simple, right?

Well, it's quite hard. It had been two hours since I entered the room and my angel hadn't come to get me. Maybe he even knew Raoul's strategy and he was just playing along. Maybe I had to sing to attract his attention.

I looked around the dark room until my eyes came to rest on the mirror. I picked up the candle on my table, got up, and walked to the mirror, my free hand rested on the cold glass. I stared at my reflection and the chilly atmosphere behind me through the mirror. I started to sing in effort to attract my angel's attention.

"_Angel of Music, guide and guardian, grant to me your glory. Angel of Music, hide no longer, come to me, strange angel…"_

First there was nothing but total silence. The only sound I could hear was my breathing. Suddenly, from the darkest corner of my room, behind me, a dark voice sang back.

"_Too long you've wandered in winter, far from my fathering gaze…"_

I turned around to face the corner, but all I could see was darkness. The voice suddenly laughed (which startled me slightly), then spoke. "Christine, seriously, why were you singing?"

I still couldn't see anything. I stepped forward so the light of my candle will hit the source of the voice. When it finally did, I gasped, because it was my beloved tutor.

He was wearing a fine black suit; no speck of color anywhere. His ankle-high boots barely made any sound when he walked and his matching cape was clasped around his neck. His face was very familiar and devilishly handsome; his hair combed back and that cold porcelain white half-mask covering the right side of his face. And his deep green eyes that burned with hell-fire…there was something about them that made me lost in them…

He laughed again, which confused me. "Christine, what were you doing?"

I felt my blush rise to my cheeks as he walked past me and rested his black-gloved hand on the mirror glass. "Christine, I repeat, what were you doing?"

I put the candle on my bedside table. "Nothing; I was just trying to attract your attention."

He didn't reply and just pushed the glass aside like a sliding door. The mirror revealed a long passageway with candle holders on either side of it. My angel grabbed a torch on the cold concrete ground of the hallway, lit it using the flame of another torch on the wall, and stepped into the corridor. "Come with me," he said, his voice echoing through the walls. "I want to show you something."

I had no choice but to follow him. I closed the sliding door/mirror behind me as I followed my angel through the catacombs.

X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~

I tried my best to remember the passageways, but all of them looked so similar, so hard to remember. So I just decided to follow my angel. It seemed he knew these passageways like the back of his and. Judging by the anxiousness on his face, he was annoyed about something.

We finally came to his lair. I remembered it well. It had candles everywhere, the place full of mahogany desks and red velvet furniture. His bed stood on the far right of the place and a wooden organ (or piano?) sat in the center of it all, high on an elevated platform. A black gondola was tied with rope to a stake driven into the shore rock. There was a corner drawn with curtains as if to conceal something.

My angel strode towards a desk, took off his cape then set it there. He walked to the organ and started fixing sheet music. He was frantic in tidying up the lair.

"Strange coincidence," I said to him, making him stop fixing and face me. "I never got to know your name. Your _real _name, I mean."

He smiled at me then put his cold hand on my shoulder. "Mademoiselle, it is an honor for me to know someone, who is you, is considerate enough to ask for my name."

"Why?"

"I was some sort of worthless freak back in my childhood days. People called me _Le Morte Vivant _instead of my birth name. Quite, you might say, disrespectful. But I have grown immune to criticism and judgement, mind you."

"Well, what is it, what is your birth name?"

He bowed like a gentleman, heart over hand, smiling. "Mademoiselle, my name is Erik, although he has this annoying habit of talking in third-person, mind you."

I smiled at his _proper_ introduction. He picked up a bundle of papers, sheet music, on the floor and started to fix and align them. "Mademoiselle, now _I_, in turn, will ask the questions. So, my first question: you are still in a relationship with the Vicomte de Chagny, aren't you?"

I stayed silent for I feared I might hurt his feelings for me if I answered the wrong thing. I know that I broke his heart a long time ago; it already left deep wounds in his life because of what I did. Fearing that he might kill me or everyone in the Opera House (he might take his anger out on everyone else), I bit my tongue and kept quiet.

Erik laughed at my silence. "Mademoiselle, it's a simple yes-or-no question; you don't have to ponder deeply about it!"

I sighed before I said anything. "Yes,"

To my surprise, he smiled. "And you are to be married to the viscount after the Opera _Apollo and Daphne_, correct?"

"Yes...how do you know all this?"

He strode over to the place where the curtains were and held the tassel. I walked beside him and he pulled it, opening the red velvet curtains to show the item it concealed. I gasped, because it was my father's violin.

It had never lost its uniqueness. It was a dark brown, like the color of chocolate. Its wood was varnished, its gleam shining. By the position of its golden pegs, I could see that the strings were perfectly tuned. The carvings and the shape were measured to perfect symmetry, curving in shape. The bow was in perfect condition; it was as long as half my arm was.

I smiled in surprise. "Papa's violin!" Where did you get it?"

"I found it an old chapel," Erik replied. "I thought it was your father's turns out it was."

My smile faded. "Wait, why did you get this why do you have it?"

He walked towards the nearest desk and pulled out a knife; a dagger with a curvy black hilt and a shiny long steel blade. "I need it so I will have a memory of you." He said cruelly, sliding his fingers across the blade (it was good that he was wearing gloves).

I frowned in confusion. "Pardon? 'To have a memory of me,' you say?"

He walked over to me (still holding his dagger), and put his cold right hand on my cheek. "You don't know?"

I shook my head as I removed his hand from my face. "No, Erik. Why do you ask?"

He started twirling the dagger in his fingers. "You see, this place was rebuilt to keep me out, to ensure the managers have a second chance. They know I'm here and I know they sent you to chart your ways through my catacombs. To capture me so their 'second chance' won't fail again."

"Yes, you're right about that all," I replied, amazed on how he knew all this, "but I still don't understand why you need this violin."

He sighed deeply before he spoke. "You are to be Daphne for the play. I shall audition for the role of Apollo. I should warn you a great misfortune will befall upon you all if this is to happen."

I was speechless in shock, so he continued.

"I will perform a massacre on your wedding day. I will kill you all for your idiotic insolence and for hating me in the first place. I shall give the viscount a theme for the wedding, which I will give to you, which you will give to him. I'm afraid I will have to kill you at the massacre, Christine. I will have to kill you on your wedding day."

My mouth hung open. "But...but why?"

He became enraged at me. He faced me and started yelling. _"Christine, I loved you! And what did you give me in return? YOU LEFT ME TO ROT IN HELL! You deserve to die like I have for you!"_

I had nothing to do, nothing to say. He wanted to kill me! But was it a fair judgement? After all, he sacrificed his time and teach me how to sing and I just threw him aside like trash. But did I even _love him? _

"Stop pondering my words, Christine," Erik's voice interrupted my thoughts. "Now, I know I can trust you. You know of my plan of massacre, of my audition. I shall let you go back to Raoul, but keep this a secret. If you do, I will not kill you. If you tell," he held the dagger to my neck. It was very cold, the metal scraping against my skin.

He quickly removed the dagger from my neck and struck it on the table. "I need to trust you, Christine. I need to trust you," he murmured to himself.

He picked up and envelope on the table and handed it to me. "Give this to your Raoul. He has been expecting this. Now come."

I followed him as he left the lair and into the darkness of the catacombs.


	6. Chapter 6: Discussions

**CHAPTER 6: Discussions**

**Hi! See, I told you I would give this a few days earlier! Anyway, I just want you to know the internet's kind of working well, and it can maintain its fast speed in a week or so. I just wanted to tell you. Also, I told you already that I'm used to Erik's P.O.V., and not Christine's thank you. Internet is BACK!  
**

**If you think the story's bad, reviews are open for criticism.**

**Disclaimer: Just so you know, there is nothing I own in that POTO world. I bet you didn't know that, right?**

**CHAPTER 6: Discussions (Christine's P.O.V.)**

The next thing I knew, I was in my bedroom, waking up on my bed; the sunlight and morning air went gliding through the window. I didn't even remember the time when I fell asleep, but I remembered by angel (his name was Erik, am I right?) bringing me to his lair and threatening me to keep my mouth shut about his wedding massacre. I sat up in my bed, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, plus stretching and yawning occasionally. I then remembered what my angel told me: something about giving an envelope to Raoul that he'd been expecting. I tried to look for it in my nightgown pockets, but they weren't there! I was frantic for a moment, but from the corner of my eye, I saw the envelope on my bedside table. I breathed a sigh of relief. I didn't even know the importance of that thing, yet it mattered so much to me.

There came a creak from my door and a man came in to my room dressed in eccentric clothing; a fine suit, a brown trench coat and he was carrying a collection of papers in one hand. He had honey blond hair and some reflection of both love and seriousness in his eyes.

"Raoul?" I asked. "What are you doing here?"

He smiled and set his papers on my table then kissed my cheek. "Can't a man simply see his fiance every now and then?"

He sat down on my bed, taking his hand in mine. Judging by the expression on his face, he was going to ask me something. Perhaps it was about my "mission" going to my angel's lair. Then I remembered what Erik told me. If I was to spoil his plan about the massacre, I would die on my wedding day together with hundreds of innocent people. If I don't I would save myself, but I would be haunted by the guilt that I didn't save lives. What should I say? Maybe I should keep quiet and before the massacre starts, I warn Raoul.

"Christine," Raoul said in effort to comfort my tense expression. "Tell me what you saw, the passageways this Phantom took you to."

"He didn't," I lied, some bubble of guilt formed inside of me. "He didn't take me to his lair. No one came, I swear."

Raoul raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure?"

I nodded quickly. Then, I stood up, grabbed the envelope on my table and handed it to Raoul. "I found this on my desk this morning. Probably from the ghost."

He took the envelope from me and stuffed it into his pocket. He walked to my door then opened it. "Get dressed quickly then the managers and you and I will talk about the contents of this letter."

He closed the door, leaving me to ponder his words.

X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~

After I dressed, I exited my room and made my way to the stage of the Opera House. There were stagehands fixing and re-painting the damaged cardboard trees. There were women sewing the white backdrop that fell the other day. At the edge of the stage, there was a small batch of young ballet girls (my friend Meg was among them) being taught by Mme. Giry, who was constantly pacing in front of them instructing them to learn proper posture. There was Raoul talking to MM. Richard and Moncharmin right in the middle of everything. So in short, it was a normal day at the _Palais Gariner. _

I walked over to the three gentlemen and stayed beside Raoul the entire time we were conversing.

"So," M. Moncharmin started. "Aren't we here to discuss about the note the ghost sent us?"

"Ah, yes," Raoul retorted fishing the note from his pocket. It was another black bordered envelope with a red skull emblem sealing it. Raoul opened the envelope and took out the note. He read it aloud so all of us could hear it.

"_To my managers and the dear viscount, _

"_I know of your performance of my opera _Apollo and Daphne _a few days from now. At first, I thought of auditioning for the role of Apollo. Of course, I do not need an audition; I will simply be there during the performance. I also know that you, the Vicomte de Chagny, will be joined with Christine Daaé in holy matrimony. As I promised, I would give a gift to you which is inside the envelope. It is your theme for the wedding. _

"_Now, obey the following instructions correctly. Christine will not sing as Daphne, not even as a ballet girl. She shall not perform in my opera and should sit in Box 5, my box. I promise nothing bad or terrible will happen to her once she is seated in the box. No one, I repeat, NO ONE, should sit in the box with her. For the role of Daphne, instead, use that whimsy ignorant soprano Carlotta. Dare to not follow and an innocent life shall be sent to the devil. _

"_O.G."_

All of us stood silent reflecting the note until Raoul spoke up.

"Firstly," he said, "I already found a tenor who could be casted as Apollo and he was hired on the spot. His name is Francois Brevous, and I requested for him to come here tonight. I gave him the copy of the script so he could practice."

"Yes," I replied, anxious. "But is the ghost aware of this? He might be furious knowing we casted another man in his stead."

"Relax," Raoul reassured me. "I'm sure the ghost doesn't mind."

I nodded nervously then Raoul continued.

"Secondly, it is complete absurdity regarding why the ghost wouldn't want Christine to sing. Of course he wants her to sing! But why now he requests we here to discuss about she sits in his Box 5 while some other prima donna he hates plays her role? Pure absurdity!"

M. Richard raised an eyebrow and started shouting in fury. "Why would the ghost do this? We are going to refund a _full house _if Christine doesn't sing! We promised her voice to the public, and we will give it to them! We _will _let her sing, whether the ghost wants it or not!"

With that statement in our minds, both MM. Richard and Moncharmin left the conversation, furious. Then Raoul and I saw M. Richard talking to his secretary, M. Terounts. Richard gave his the script for _Apollo and Daphne_, then the secretary ran off.

"Raoul," I asked. "The ghost said that his gift to you was inside that envelope. What is in there?"

Raoul opened the envelope and found a square-shaped piece of paper. There was a beautiful white mask drawn on it, with the ghost's signature on it. Raoul flipped the paper over to reveal another quote written in curvy script.

"_Faces are meant to be hidden. This is my theme for the wedding."_

"A masquerade," Raoul said softly to me. "He wants our wedding to be a masquerade."


End file.
